


Continued Silence

by idgit_with_a_fidget



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (more tags to be added as fics develop), Angels, Demons, F/M, Fallen Castiel, Internal Conflict, M/M, Religious Conflict, Sacrifice, Songfic, halucifer - Freeform, imagine dragons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idgit_with_a_fidget/pseuds/idgit_with_a_fidget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of fics inspired from songs from the album and EPs of Imagine Dragons (Continued Silence/Night Visions).<br/>Expect monsters, tensions, fluff AND MORE!</p><p>PART 1: 'It's Dark Inside' (based on 'Demons' http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSoIWEGL1YM )</p>
            </blockquote>





	Continued Silence

There was some use in pretending that everything is fine. 

The angel pretends he doesn’t feel the guilt eating away at his morals, doesn’t question the death toll anymore, doesn’t think about how different his perceptions have become –so radical, so new, so…wrong. He’s gotten too close to these humans. That human. But he can’t regret that. Doesn’t. He’d bleed himself dry for the boys. Sacrifice his ties with the Big Daddy. He pretends he understands every consequence, every equal and opposite reaction. But nobody can. 

The younger song –the Grade A freak- pretends he sleeps soundly, pretends he sees only himself reflected in the mirror. Doesn’t mention the quiet, sinister giggles and joyful sighs, breathless from the laughter. A singular, quiet voice just nestled comfortably somewhere in the back of his messed-up head, somewhere he can’t pinpoint. A faint, soft whisper impervious to aspirin. He fails to make reference to those around the scarlet-stained dreams and tortured, warped nightmares of fleshy hooks and violent screams and exhausted bodies slumped, nothing more than pungent cavities; a home for maggots and worms. And the ever-present laughter, so gentle, so tender, always there in the back of his mind to provide comfort on lonely nights and dark moments. 

And the one who rose from the dead more times than anyone; the one who greets Death with a dirty joke or snide, banter comment. He pretends he is fine. He pretends he does not mind the war, does not worry about the brawling and the dirt; pretends he comprehends the world he emerged from the grit into. The lone-wolf status doesn’t suit him. He realises he needs his family –family is all he has, all he’s ever had. He fights in rage and revenge, blinded by the pain of a maverick soldier, deafened by the wails of the past. Despite his recklessness he needs someone to keep him on the straight, keep him right. Keep giving him something worth staying alive for. The brother. The angel. The uncle.

There was some use in pretending that everything is fine, some use in patching up the wounds with lies and façade smiles, anything to cover up the chasm of black, the growl and wail of the inside monsters. But there was more use in looking across the room, into the eyes of the brother, the friend, and knowing they were hurting too, and then in the dark, as they look back at you, and they acknowledge the same, and they smile because you both know that you can all struggle out of the swallowing black with its grasping hands with dangerous claws.

And there is light.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
